Unfortunate Circumstances
by stay.perfectly.still
Summary: It's his life and how he came to be. It's the story of Mail Jeevas.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **The story's still under construction, so it's most likely that the chapters are going to be editted. I was still hesitant on publishing this, but I decided it would be best to get everyone's opinion so far. I know it's not very long, but please review.

PS, if anyone can figure out a better title for the story - please message me. Thanks.

**DISCLAIMER:** I unfortunately do not own Death Note.

* * *

"Mrs. Jeevas, please sit down." A young woman of twenty seven smiled pleasantly, gesturing towards the comfortable chairs placed in front of the desk. Then with a soft chuckle, before she added, "You too, Mail."

"Thank you." 'Mrs. Jeevas' responded politely, before gracefully settling herself on the chair. She then glanced at her watch briefly, before raising her eyes to meet the teacher's. Mail fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair next to her.

His mother rarely attended student conferences, being busy with her work and all. Today was an exception though.

Immediately, Mail knew that this conference wasn't going to be a good one.

"So how is Mail doing in school?" His teacher's friendly smile quickly turned into a frown as she folded her hands.  
"I'm afraid his participation in school discussions and socialization is lacking. I'm not sure if it's because he has communication problems, or.."

Mail glared at his fourth grade teacher.  
The other students had taken a liking to her, or at least that's what it looked like. But as usual, he contradicted his fellow peers.

Unlike them, and his previous teachers, the woman couldn't seem to leave him alone. In fact, she was the biggest annoyance he had to deal with at school. She just kept pestering him, and _pestering_ him. Mail thought he had made it fairly clear that he had no desire to finish his multiplication sheet. Or pay attention to her read out loud some children's book called 'Stone Soup.'

His eyes narrowed a little more, as his teacher talked in a that tone. The one that basically said, '_I'm very disappointed._' He inwardly scoffed. As if she cared.  
"--I know Mail can do better than this. If only he put.."

It was her smile that he didn't particularly like, either.  
The quirk of the lips, the overly friendly demeanor, the irritating shine of her blue eyes. The attention she gave him, and how she treated him weirdly.  
Who was she to call _his_ mother, and schedule an appointment? The nerve of her, implying that he was incompetent and anti-social. _She_ on the other hand, was too friendly. As expected from a beginning teacher, of course. They were very predictable, over-enthusiastic, and had the same authority as a subsitute's.

_She_ was the one who was incompetent, a pushover if you will.

"In addition to it all, he seems to have trouble in completing his assigned sheets, and school work." The frown deepened even more, and Mail noted that she was wearing neutral pink lipstick. "He's falling very behind, and his withdrawal to the classroom concerns me deeply." At this, Mail's ears seemed to perk up. His mother passed him a quick glance, with raised eyebrows. She was surprised, which was rather interesting because his grades had been dropping steadily throughout the years. There was an awkward silence. Ah, she was _still_ staring at him.

Mail stared straight back, waiting for her disapproval. The lectures, intimidating facial expressions. The things parents usually did to discipline their children. But no words came. His mother merely sighed. He wondered whether or not it was because she didn't care, too tired to care, or just didn't feel like scolding him until they were away from the classroom.

"I didn't know Mail would be so difficult." She stated, a tone of finality in her voice, "Rest assured, he'll be caught up in no time; I'll hire a tutor if needed." She stood up, straightening her shirt before holding out her hand to shake. "It was great to meet you, Ms. Kennedy. But I'm afraid we must get going." Mail blinked.

The conference was done.._already? _The other children took at least fifteen minutes.

Mail's teacher looked as if she was going to object to having such a short conference as well. But deciding against it, she hesitantly shook Mail's mother's hand before standing up. "Take care. You too, Mail." She called out, as they exited the classroom. Mail ignored her, following his mother by her side until they were in the car.

The car doors slammed shut. His mother started the car.

Silence. There was only the soft hum of the engine.

Mail fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting for his mother to say something. _Anything_.

"Sweetie, I'm going to drop you off at home. I have another meeting I need to get to." Mail couldn't see his mother's expression from the backseat, only her auburn hair. No relief coursed through his body as expected from her words; in fact, he felt worse. Slightly angry, Mail didn't respond to his mother. He glared at the pedestrians outside the window.

He wasn't sure what he was feeling at the moment. He knew it was one solid emotion, one that wasn't happy, or excited..or really depressed.

He decided to contemplate this on the way home. The street lights passed him as the car picked up speed, turning into one big blur of yellows, greens, and all sorts of colors. Large banners, different stores, other children.  
Finally, the car stopped, and Mail swung the door open spitefully. _Click._

That was it, he realized.

Mail was feeling disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This chapter sucks, I know. It's very bland and boring, but it helps the story progress further, and will help develop Mail's character more. It'll start getting better after the next few chapters. I'll most likely release the next one in a couple of days..hopefully.

Oh, and there might be several errors because I didn't go thoroughly check the chapter like I should have. Oops. x)

**DISCLAIMER:** I unfortunately do not own Death Note.

* * *

**Unfortunate Circumstances .o2**

There was nothing to do in his house. It was vast, filled with expensive decorations and exotic paintings. Even then though, nothing sparked much of an interest to Mail. It was usually his mother who enjoyed the abstract paintings, and owned the odd collection of souvenirs from time to time--not him. He never seemed to be captiviated by such things. Personality-wise, he was more like his father. Precise, quiet but unafraid to be outspoken, and procrastinated quite a bit.

He scanned the living room briefly. As usual, everything was perfectly in place, without a speck of dust in sight. However, it was far from welcoming. The house had a cold atmosphere to it; it practically welcomed the silence, with the exception of a maid or two. However, they usually remained out of sight.

Occasionally, Mail would appreciate this time to reflect, and contemplate his actions. The quiet environment gave him opportunities to extend his thoughts. Sometimes, he'd picture some crazy scenario, or some type of unique predicament, and what type of decisions he would make if he were in it. It was always more enjoyable to wonder what it was like somewhere other than inside his house. Majority of the time, this was one of the main reasons Mail would return straight to his room, going to bed quite early. You see, sleeping made time go faster. It was a method he discovered that helped sort his thoughts out, even if they didn't make much sense in the first place.

After all, it's been said that the human mind thinks multiple thoughts at a time.

Mail quietly made his way into his room, placing his body on the comfortable blanket and mattress after shoving all his school supplies on the floor.  
He allowed himself to relax. It was only then thoughts started to consume his mind. But the first thing that came to mind was..

_Ms. Kennedy._

The blonde haired woman with unnaturally bright blue eyes. At the thought of his fake teacher, Mail Jeevas smiled bitterly.

She thought **he **had problems.

But it was her who was in a financial crisis. She was the one living check by check, the one who was unable to afford a decent living Yes, he had seen the papers on her cluttered desk. Money calculations, deductions, checks. She was desperately trying to deposit some money, but that proved to be impossible now--all thanks to the steady increase of gas prices. _Who was the one with the problems? _Was what Mail wanted to say.

But she wasn't very socialiable. The only one who called her cell was her landlord; impatiently demanding his rent money.

Mail had known this through careful observation; it was the little things she did when nobody was looking. When the class was unruly, an exhausted frown would plaster itself onto her lips, and she would stand there for a brief moment and just stare. Doubt would be flickering back and forth in her eyes, plain as daylight, as she would wonder how big of a mistake it had been, pursuing a teaching career. But then after a minute, she'd snap out of her dream-like state, and start raising her voice to gain control of the class.

It would be quite amusing, to imagine her face if she found out about all the things he knew about her. Mail had to admit, it was a bit sad that he was bored enough to pay this much attention to her. But then again, the daily class discussions and teachings were just about enough to drive him crazy. Hell, Mail wasn't stupid. Multiplication was a breeze. So was division. He figured it all out within several minutes, while the others were still trying to figure out the concept of what two times three was.

And she thought **he** was incompetent.

He snorted, before pulling up his blanket, deciding that thinking about his teacher would only serve to aggravate him. Instead, his mind started to wander to other subjects. Soon, he found himself wondering when his mother was going to come home. Her meetings usually lasted 2-4 hours, depending on what company she was dealing with. His father, Nathaniel Jeevas, was also in a business meeting. However, his meeting lasted longer. Sometimes for two and a half weeks, depending whether or not he needed to travel to exotic places.

Ah yes, Mail's parents were always busy, whether it was inventing new games, to inventing new software. It was always about technology. At first, Mail was curious. He had wondered how a television worked, among many other electronics. How it could produce vibrant colors, and life-like images in a box?

But like division, and multiplication, he figured that out quickly as well. His curiosity disappated into nothingness.

But it did still fascinated him, somewhat. People seemed wrapped up in trying to make the televisions more convenient, smaller, thinner, with clearer pixels and whatnot. He couldn't exactly understand why, television seemed too much of a hassle. He was perfectly content with the ones his family had; plasma screens, life-like images. Even then though, it didn't interest him for more than five minutes. The shows that seemed to captivate many others seemed pathetically useless in his eyes.

Mail let out another sigh, glancing at the calender next to his clock. His birthday was coming up.

His mother had asked him whether or not he wanted to throw a party. When Mail refused, she had asked why, and that he should--because throwing birthday parties in other families was traditional. Other families, being the key word. He remembered replying in a neutral voice, that there was no point. That it would only consume his time further, and that there was no need to make such a hassle about a birth date. He didn't necessarily want anything. However, his mother did hint that his father might be arriving home for the weekend, and that they'd spend a little time together.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He'd like that.

Mail never fully understood the meaning of 'birthdays'. The words, 'birth' and 'date' were merged together. So, the purpose of birthdays was to.. celebrate the day of one's birth? With presents? It was an odd concept. The meaning of life; shouldn't one be grateful to be breathing? Yet, the children in his class demanded presents of all sorts. They insisted on gathering a group of friends, having a big icecream cake with candles on top, and spend the whole day as an excuse to be treated well. A couple weeks ago, Mail remembered Ms. Kennedy excused a girl--Janet, was it?--from doing the daily routine clean up of the classroom. Simply because it was her birthday.

He had believed this to be ridiculous, and had slipped out of the classroom, deciding to walk home the long way that day.

Nevertheless, he was happy his father was going to come home. Now he just had to wait. For three weeks.

A frown crossed Mail's face. It was going to be a long, grueling three weeks. He recalled his father explaining that the business meeting was extremely important. He said that his company had created a brand new software, and if the meeting was successful, they'd become even more rich. Mail didn't really care though, they had more than enough money to last them for at least several years. But he grew curious; what exactly was this 'software'?

...

Knock. Knock.

"Mr. Jeevas?"

Upon hearing his last name being called, Mail grunted and rolled over on his bed. He was having a pleasant dream, and obviously didn't want to be disturbed. However, the person at the door became persistent. Eventually, the annoying sound had Mail fully awake. A little pissed-off, Mail opened the door. There was a woman; one of his mother's maids.

"What?" Mail hissed. "I recall telling you that I **do not want** to be disturbed." The maid smiled, half-heartedly.

"Mrs. Jeevas gave me strict orders to make sure you're attending school today." She responded, before glancing at the digital clock in his room. "You have thirty minutes to get ready, Mr. Jeevas. There's breakfast on the table, and would you like someone to escort you?" Mail stared at her, before letting out a large yawn. This was rather rude, but he didn't really care.

"I..uh.." He struggled to think properly. How long had he been sleeping? "I just got home from school."

The maid flashed him one of her half-hearted smiles again. "Mr. Jeevas, you've been sleeping for more than ten hours. Today is Thursday and your mother expects you to be at school."

Mail blinked, still a tad sleepy. "Very well then." He muttered with discontent, before slamming his bedroom door shut. "I'll be down in 15 minutes. Thanks."

He turned around, grabbing whatever clothing was closer in his closet. It turned out to be navy blue jeans, and a plain red shirt. Mail wouldn't have it any other way; those private school uniforms were so..formal. He hated them, and was more than thankful that his mother didn't make him go. He was already singled out in school, as the kids eyed the type of expensive food he was eating, or the occasional escorts he received. He supposed it didn't really matter what they thought of him though. He would rather stay at a public school, than at a private school. The stuck-up idiots were such a hassle to deal with.

Mail quickly stumbled his way through the bathroom door, before brushing his teeth and examining the strange placement of his auburn hair. Several strands made a sweeping movement towards the ceiling, looking tangled and unbrushed, while the others were slightly curled; framing his face. He frowned at his unruly hair.

After several attempts at trying to comb the mess down, Mail decided to shove his head under the shower. The problem had been..successfully fixed.

...

At school, Ms. Kennedy had wondered why his hair, and his shoulders were soaking wet.

Mail mimicked the maid's half-hearted smiles, before shrugging. This earned his several strange looks, whom he was accustomed to. Ms. Kennedy sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to give her much of an answer. She resumed her daily classroom routines, and Mail resumed observing everyone in the room.

Janet Harrison

A brunette with large hazel eyes. She was considered to be the smartest of the class. When she was thinking of an answer, she fidgeted with her hands. Mail automatically assumed that this was a nervous habit constantly used because she doubted herself. It was probably the feeling of pressure from her classmates.

Hailey Thompson.

She had blonde hair, and blue eyes that look similar to Ms. Kennedy's. She wanted to be a dancer, simply because she loves the adrenaline rush of having all eyes on her. The girl craved attention from adults and peers. She was overly friendly, and so far, nobody seemed to hate her.

Oh, except Andrew Parker, who didn't like the fact that his sibling was friends with her. He thought she was fake, which was true.

Mail heaved out a sigh, wondering why he even bothered to think about things like this. They were so trivial, and.. completely useless.Knock. Knock.

Mail could hear soft, persistent footsteps make their way into the room, before stopping.

"**Ahem**, I'm assuming you're Mail's teacher?" It was a demanding woman's voice, on the brink of rudeness. There was an aura of superiority and intimidation that surrounded her that seemed to grip the whole room. All eyes were focused on her.

"..Yes, I'm Michelle Kennedy. Who are you?" His teacher's voice sounded rather hesitant, and definitely untrusting.

"I'm Mail's tutor."

"Tutor?" _Tutor..?_

"Yes, tutor. Mail's mother has requested that I teach him privately.."

Mail glanced up, his green eyes focusing on his supposed 'tutor.' Thick black hair, sharp brown eyes, professional clothing. A grin spread over his face, watching the Ms. Kennedy's expression twist into an offended one. It was priceless. Tutor, huh? Maybe she wasn't so bad.

"Excuse me? She never informed me of anything like this."

"Well, that's precisely why I'm telling you now. If you excuse me.." The woman brushed passed Ms. Kennedy, her dark eyes landing on Mail in an instant. He made sure his grin had been concealed, as he walked with her out of the classroom, ignoring the curious stares..

The woman had led him to an empty room, used for children with English problems or had trouble communicating. Mail found this quite amusing, and even allowed a quiet chuckle to escape his lip as the woman quietly shut the door behind them.

Like a hawk, her eyes sharpened as she turned around.

"And what is so funny, Mail Jeevas?" Mail could've sworn there was some sort of amusement in her words. He was about to retort a juvenile comment such as, 'Your face,' but stopped himself. There was something about this woman.. Ah yes, that was it. She wasn't fake, like Ms. Kennedy. He respected her.

And so, Mail decided to be honest, and blunt. "Despite what you may think, I don't have communication problems. I can talk perfectly fine." There was a look of surprise that crossed the woman's face briefly. Mail sat down in a chair, before crossing his arms. "How much is my mother paying you? I'll pay double, triple maybe, if we skip the 'tutoring' part."

She was stunned. For a child at the age of eight, he sure did know how to bribe and manipulate people.

But she didn't have a problem with that. A charming smile spread across her face. "Done. I'm Audrey."

Mail smirked. That was easy. He leaned back on his chair, in a laid-back manner. Audrey seemed to be more relaxed now; there was no longer the cold demeanor that was supposed to intimidate, and help discipline him. Hm. She was definitely something different.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** So this chapter slipped my mind - it was supposed to be up a _long_ time ago. Sorry about that, I think I postponed it to see if I could make it longer, but in the end just decided to publish the damn thing. I hope it doesn't bore you.

& before I forget - thank you so much for the reviews. Feedback is always loved.  
**DISCLAIMER: **I unfortunately do not own Death Note, or it's characters.

* * *

**Unfortunate Circumstances .o3**

"So," Mail started, green eyes trained on her, "Tutoring seems like a boring job."

Was Audrey insulted? No, she was agreeing with him.

"You won't believe the brats I have to deal with." She responded lazily. He blinked, not expecting that blunt of an answer. But it showed that she trusted him enough to vent about things that adults normally wouldn't do. Good.

"I can imagine." He feigned sympathy. Her eyes sharpened.

"But let's talk about you." She had a smile that he didn't like on her face. "You claim to have no communication problems--and as far as I'm concerned, you don't."

He stared at her. His face remained stoic. Audrey noticed. "So, would it be a safe assumption that you're too lazy to do your school work, and please your mommy? Is this some sort of rebellion?" Mail was a takened back. He hadn't imagine that she'd be mocking him. There was something about this woman..

"How would you know? Maybe I do have problems with academics." Mail countered, with his back slumped against his chair, and legs on the table. This dispute was interesting, but once he had her figured out, it'd be boring. Then, he'd resume his original, trivial, classroom activities.

Audrey leaned closer, folding her hands on the desk. "Ah, if that were only the case Mail. But I know you; you're a smart, bright kid. Plus, your parents are awfully busy. Perhaps the reason why you're not contributing to your work is because you want attention? From your parents, right? _Am I right?_" Mail wasn't going to let her have the satisfaction of seeing him stunned. He kept a straight face.

But before he could say something witty back, Audrey let out a light laugh. Her thick hair swayed around her face slightly. Mail stared at her with disbelief. "Just kidding. You see, I used to be a psychologist until I ran out of clients. They didn't like my methods, so sometimes I can't help but rant about theories."

Mail scoffed, noticing her knowing smile. _She was good_.

...

A week and several days passed. Mail continued to go with Audrey and simply have casual conversations. They talked about various subjects. To be honest, he liked her. She had an interesting persona, and every once and a while she'd make a theory about him. Majority of the time, it was eerily accurate. This unnerved Mail just a bit, but he had to admit. It was entertaining.

However, today Ms. Kennedy had strongly disregarded Audrey's duties. She claimed that Mail was to participate with the class for the next few days, and wouldn't allow Audrey to protest. So here he was, sitting in the library, watching as Ms. Kennedy rambled on about using powerpoints with a smartboard. Today was a bit different than the others though. It was the day when he showed even the_ slightest _bit of interest as to what Ms. Kennedy was saying. The only reason being that he had never really been on a computer before.

In his opinion however, the electronic seemed rather dull.

Sure, the screen was smaller and thinner than a television's._ Sure_, there was a keyboard that allowed you to communicate with others. But that was no use to him. He didn't communicate to people. Audrey, his parents, and maybe the occasional person to ask him a question--but that was it. So really, having a computer at his disposal was rather useless.

"To make a new slide, you just move your mouse up to the.."

Mail had forgotten the objective of making a slideshow. It was for science. What were they supposed to be learning again?

Oh yeah, the weather. Storm catastrophes. Right.

Yet again, Mail lost interest. The weather was boring. He didn't necessarily care about how hurricanes or tornadoes form. The basic concept was to stay far away from them when they occurred. He knew for a fact that he wasn't going to grow up to be a scientist on weather patterns. So really, his lack of attention didn't matter. "Alright children, I'll be assigning you to your own computers.."

Mail watched as his teacher started to direct the students to random computers. She started with the ones sitting down, rather than the ones standing up and waving their hands wildly. Mail yawned. He wondered what Audrey was doing now. The psychologist, no, _tutor_ had disappeared, muttering something about Starbucks.

"Mail, you can go to the one at the far back. Next to Hailey." Ms. Kennedy gave him one of her friendly smiles. Mail merely stared back with lazy green eyes, before making his way over to the blonde girl. He seated himself down next to her, hardly sparing her a glance before typing in his student ID and password. _Mail Jeevas 1. Yaj Me._

His password was weird. But, it made sense. The code was simple.

Yaj Me. Backwards. Em Jay. Which would refer to M and J. Mail Jeevas.

The computer screen had a pop up, signaling that it was loading. _Well_, Mail mused,_ that was easy enough_. Finally, after a couple seconds, the pop up disappeared. Instead, a blue desktop and several icons greeted him. He scanned the titles, before finding the one he wanted. Powerpoint. _Click._

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the girl Janet do the exact same thing. Soon enough, he had a blank slide before him, just about ready to be edited to his liking. He kind of liked that idea.

Mail moved his mouse to select a background; a neon orange color with intricate designs on it. His green eyes took a quick glance at Janet's slide. It was covered in a light pink background, full of different colored polka dots. He wrinkled his nose slightly. _The color was so bland_, he thought with distaste. Unlike orange. Orange was interesting, it even meshed perfectly with other colors such as reds and yellows. But it was vibrant, in a pleasant way. Plus, it helped him be more alert.

"Interesting slide so far, Mail." He blinked. What did Ms. Kennedy want now? For the time being, he was actually _cooperating_ and doing his work.

Mail stared at the sea of neon orange; he didn't like the way she was hovering above his head. Why couldn't the teacher just leave him alone? She was nagging, controlling, and_ ugh_. "But remember to stay on topic; you need to write about storm disasters. Hasn't Audrey been teaching you well?"

Mail rolled his eyes, the subtle tone was more than enough to give it away.

Ever since Audrey had swept inside the classroom and insulted the blonde's teachings and authority--an unannounced rivalry had formed between the two. _Who was the better teacher? _In Mail's case, it would be neither. Audrey was merely bluffing about how well Mail was doing, and he of course went along with it because it was something that would amuse him for the time being. She hadn't taught him a single thing, or really bothered to after the bribe; but Ms. Kennedy didn't have to know about _that_.

A mischievous glint flickered in his green eyes, as he turned to face the blonde teacher. The things he goes out of his way of, to make Audrey look good.

"Oh, she's an excellent tutor." Mail exclaimed with subtle enthusiasm, noticing the way Ms. Kennedy's blue eyes harden slightly. "I can understand everything better, now. I mean, when I was with the class, it was..uh, great and everything, but rather distracting. She just makes everything so much more fun." Pause. Her face had turned impassive. Good, Mail was getting to her. He opened his mouth once more, careful about not trying to overdo it, "I don't know why she didn't become a full-time teacher. She would've been great." By now, Ms. Kennedy looked quite ready to hiss out something out of spite.

However, knowing her place as a teacher, she didn't.

Instead, the teacher responded curtly, "That's very nice, Mail. Work on your powerpoint," before walking away. A sliver of disappointment gathered itself in Mail's stomach. He'll keep trying. The reaction of an angry Ms. Kennedy would be priceless. It would teach the kids that their teacher wasn't all smiles and candy. She was a human being, just like the rest of them; who got angry when provoked and sad when something tragic happened.

Sometimes, Mail didn't even know why he bothered with her so much.

Ignoring the thought, he directed his attention back to the computer screen. Soon enough, his fingers were on the keyboard, ready to type something down. Snippets of how a hurricane was formed gathered itself in his thoughts. Mail didn't recall even listening to it. With his fingers poised and ready, Mail started to type. However, he realized there was something wrong after the first word was on the screen.

_This wasn't how the teachers typed_, he noted. They most certainly did not use two fingers; and already he could see why. The process was too slow. No, the teachers used.. eight fingers. No wait. They used all ten fingers. The two thumbs were to be placed on the space bar, while the rest were placed on other letters. The right pinky would be the one to hit the 'enter' button, and the other left pinky would make the capitals. Interesting. The teachers didn't even have to look at their keyboards either.

Slowly, Mail took his two fingers off the keyboard. His green eyes examined the contraption with care, as he inspected every single detail. It was strange, the letters weren't placed in alphabetical order. No, they were specifically placed so it would be most convenient to type. Hesitantly, Mail placed his fingers back down on the keyboard. This time, he used all ten fingers. He was almost positive this was the most convenient way to position them. His left fingers were placed on 'A, S, D, F' and his right fingers were placed on 'J, K, L, ;'. This way, he was in reach of majority of buttons.

"A, S D, F, G, H, J, K, L. Q, W, E, R, T, Y, U, I, O, P. Z, X, C, V, B, N, M." He muttered, as he stared blankly at the white keyboard. "A, S D, F, G, H, J, K, L. Q, W, E, R, T, Y, U, I, O, P. Z, X, C, V, B, N, M."

"Hmm? Did you say something?" A girl's voice--Janet's--jeopardized his concentration. Aggravated, Mail turned his head sharply to look at her. He must've looked quite intimidating, because the girl shrunk back in her seat. "Nevermi.."

"I didn't say anything." Mail responded icily, "Please mind your own business."

And with that, he turned away from the brunette, returning back to his computer screen of neon orange.

_A, S D, F, G, H, J, K, L. Q, W, E, R, T, Y, U, I, O, P. Z, X, C, V, B, N, M. _He was sure he had the hang of it now.

Soon, he had all fingers positioned. Anticipation filled his body, as he shut his eyes tightly. His fingers moved accordingly. Surprisingly, it happened in less than five seconds.

Mail slowly opened his eyes, finding the letters in black, bold print.

_**Hurricanes.**_ That was easy enough. Mail smiled.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Boring? Stupid? Let me know, please.


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